


Ich sehe das Licht

by Yasuo_Karada



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel), DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Blowjobs, Delusions, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Lovecraftian, M/M, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Saya no Uta AU, don't read if you like cats, tags will be added as the story progresses, the CleAo is more platonic than anything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 02:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7599268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yasuo_Karada/pseuds/Yasuo_Karada
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What are you doing?” I ask.</p><p>“Listening,” he replies in a soft voice. It's peaceful, and at the same time, oddly...remorseful. I close my eyes and listen, too. </p><p>I recognize this noise. It's the sound of the evening cicadas carrying over from the nearby forest on a hill. They chirp every summer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are! I've finally started working on that Saya no Uta AU I've been putting off for forever (I honestly should finish the Tokyo Ghoul AU first buuuuuuuuuuuuuut...) I've gotten many of the main plot points sorted out, now it's just fine-tuning the details. I'm super interested in horror-type elements, and after getting my hands on and actually PLAYING Saya no Uta, I'm more than motivated to bring this Lovecraftian monstrosity to life.

I was supposed to die that day.  
  
It was meant to be a typical outing on my day off, where I would stop by the nearby grocery store for snacks before heading over to pick up whatever new video game came out, or manga, or whatever; anything to alleviate my boredom from this stagnant life. There was this kid, I remember, but that was about it for a long, long time.  
  
I awoke in the hospital with tubes through my nose and an IV in the vein of my right arm, and the first coherent thought I had was, “Why can't I see?”  
  
The lights from the hospital room were blinding, and it hurt to open my eyes – so, I kept them closed. It got easier, little by little. But by the time I could finally open them and not feel the burn, everything had gone black.  
  
I could make out vague shapes in the darkness, sort of. Naturally, I recognized my own body, but not much else. The sheets I lay wrapped in felt suffocating, like tentacles dragging me down; the curtains along the window resembled slabs of flesh; even the nurses that tended to my injuries, I recognized as creatures from nightmares I faintly remember having as a kid.  
  
They said I had “mild brain damage”, or something like it. It explained the agonizing pain in the back of my head and some of why the bright lights hurt at first. Eventually, however, that pain began to fade. The weight of the sheets, the prick of the needle in my arm, the breeze whenever a nurse opened my window...those, too, began to fade into whitenoise. Like all of the nerves in my body fell asleep.  
  
Over time, I was able to recognize each monster as an individual nurse, what foods were what, even what time it was based on their scheduled visits. Their voices were still human and clear, thankfully, at least once the initial static went away; it was when I was alone that I began to hear things I logically knew couldn't be there. I lost a lot of sleep. Nobody I knew from the outside world came to visit me.  
  
I was forced to suffer alone in my sterile prison.  
  
If only I had minded my own damn business back then, I thought.  
  
It grew painful to be awake. All I was met with, all I would ever be met with, was this dark nightmare. I had tried, once, to stab myself with a needle when a visiting nurse wasn't looking to see if I could feel it.  
  
I couldn't. They put me into isolation.  
  
Alone with my thoughts, I kept hearing things that I somehow knew weren't really there, things in the corners of my room creeping towards me from the shadows. I often couldn't tell when I was asleep or when I was awake, it all blurred together.  
  
I got lucky one night. The new nightshift nurse neglected to check to see if my room was locked before moving on to check with the other patients. I snuck out, careful to remain light on my feet despite the slime pooling between my toes – there was no such thing, I knew deep down.  
  
I made it to the roof, somehow, and was met with night sky I hadn't seen in a month; the night seemed easier to deal with, I vaguely acknowledged then, like the darkness was softer on my sense of sight. The sky was – is – an eerie red, calmed by the moon's gentle glow. The air was stagnant, and I remember feeling my stomach lurching. I couldn't go on like that anymore.  
  
The railing on the rooftop's edge seemed so far away. I held onto it for dear life once I found it among the shadows and shapes. This would be the fastest way, I rationalized. No need to get my hands on toxins or medicine or sharp instruments and risk getting caught; no, it would just be me and the pavement below. Accepting my decision, I lifted my head to get one last look of the world I had lost.  
  
Somewhere, off in a distance my memory told me was the forest on a nearby hill, I spotted another source of light. It weaved between the streets down towards the town, cautious. When I squinted, I could make out a figure illuminated by that light.  
  
It was a human being.  
  
My grip on the railing grew tighter, all resolve to jump over it crumbling like sand. There was a person I could see. There was a _person_ I could see.  
  
After that night, having made my way back to my room without being seen, I made every effort I could to complete my physical and mental therapy as quickly as I could realistically manage. A week later, I was finally – _finally_ – discharged with a list of medications and numbers for doctors in the area whom I could contact should I feel like I was relapsing. I've thrown them both away since then.  
  
Once night finally fell, I made my way through the forest up the hill, mimicking the light's movements, taking extra care over objects that resembled rocks and objects I couldn't decipher. About a half-hour's trek later...I saw him.  
  
He was hiding behind a tree, peeking around its side with wide, almost terrified eyes. It's still strange even now to say, but he had this subtle, almost ethereal glow about him. I took a single step toward him, and he flinched back.  
  
“Don't,” I pleaded. He froze, eyes remaining focused on me. An eternity passed before he seemed to calm, and he emerged a bit more from behind the tree.  
  
The first thing I noticed was his face. It was young, probably around my age, with gentle features. They were perfectly proportioned, almost like a doll; his eyes were this earthy, bright mix of hazel and amber, like honey; his hair, oddly enough, was blue, like the sky I used to know, and it draped over his shoulders in long tendrils.  
  
He approached me with caution, like he had never seen another person before. He was completely bare, yet it seemed as though the wilderness did nothing to tarnish his pale skin. His footing was clumsy at best, and as he neared he lowered his head into something of a submissive position, his eyes scanning me up and down.  
  
Then he began to click his tongue against the roof of his mouth.  
  
“Are you lost?” I watched as he circled around and investigated me. At the time, I thought he may have been one of those hikers that sometimes gets lost this deep in the forest. “What's your name?”  
  
More clicking. Before I knew it, he was right in front of me with big, curious eyes, hands raising towards my face. I froze.  
  
_I could feel him_.  
  
He retracted, but I quickly grabbed his hands and held them against my face. I couldn't stop my shaking, only able to breathe as I relished in this sensation I had given up on ever feeling again. Eventually, his hands slowly began to move, his fingertips fluttering all over my face, my neck, my hair.  
  
“Are you lost?” I asked again. He only tilted his head.  
  
I couldn't leave him out there all alone; this was my justification. My hands returned to his, and I looked him in his honey-colored eyes before I asked, carefully, “Would you like me to take you out of here?”  
  
He stared for a moment longer before perking up and turning to look over his shoulder at something I couldn't see. When he turned his attention back to me, I gently pulled him along as I stepped back. He didn't resist, not for an instant.  
  
“What's your name?”  
  
I was met with a blank stare. Then, his lips slowly began to move. “...N...Na...me...?”  
  
His voice dripped in the same honey-like sweetness as his eyes.  
  
“Yes, your name.” Another blank stare.  
  
Back then, I thought it was possible he had memory loss; after all, he was out in the middle of nowhere and seemed confused about everything.

There was this urban legend I remember hearing as a kid, about how deep within this forest is a tree where faeries lived. Their magic made the flowers around the tree bloom all year round because that magic kept the harsh winter snow away. You would be able to recognize this tree as the faeries' home because it bore nothing but blue leaves. Of course, none of the kids in my school were brave enough to adventure into the forest once the trails ended, so whether this was true or not forever remained a mystery.  
  
I didn't know why that random thought had flitted across my mind then, but it gave me an idea, at least to give this man some sort of identity.  
  
“Then, would it be alright if I called you Aoba?”  
  
Blue leaf. Like the faerie tree.  
  
His eyes held a new sparkle in them at hearing the suggestion, and I could feel relief wash over me. “Alright. Then for the time being, you are Aoba.”  
  
“Ow...b...” He tried. “...Ao...ba. Aoba.”  
  
I nodded, and held a hand against his chest. “Aoba.”  
  
He mimicked me, repeating the name back to me like a parrot over and over again until it dripped fluidly from his lips, like it was perfectly natural.  
  
As Aoba was completely naked, I tore my shirt over my head in a swift motion before offering it to him. He stared at it as though he had no idea what it was and I ultimately had to help him pull it over his torso and stick his arms through the sleeves with some difficulty. There was nothing I could do about the bottom half of his body, but it was late and the chances of being seen were slim. I decided we would risk it, and so I led him back to my apartment with his hand – so warm, soft – in mine.  
  
Returning home was easier than I expected it to be. There was nobody walking around outside, nobody lingering in the hallways or elevator. It wasn't until we had passed the threshold of the front door before shutting it did I feel safe. When I turned around, Aoba was staring at me in the darkness with those large, golden eyes, resembling the face of an intrigued child.  
  
“Here.” I offered my hand out to him once more. He took it and I escorted him over the the gekkan and through the living room.  
  
I'm fortunate enough with my skills of being a programmer that I can afford to live in a rather large apartment. There's not much to fill up the space; aside from my bed, all I really have for furniture is the sofa, a plain metallic coffee table, a stand for my television and gaming console, and whatever odds and ends I've managed to gather in my kitchen. I've never felt lonely having all of this space to myself, but I would've been lying if I said that at the time, the prospect of the presence of another human being excited me to no end.  
  
“This is the bedroom,” I stated as I brought him through the doorway. In it was my full-sized bed; sheets were still messy from when I woke up but the room was completely pristine otherwise. He let go of my hand as he drifted towards the bed, reaching down as he approached it to press his palms against the mattress.  
  
“You can stay in here for the time being. The bathroom is through that door there,” I indicated with a sharp nod of my head, glancing towards a closed doorway in the far-right corner of the room. His body turned in response to my gesture, and the subtle roundness exposed beneath the hem of my shirt reminded me.  
  
I had lent him a pair of worn sweatpants and a large shirt left over from a past relationship. I remember the way his body practically swam in the oversized attire, how it made him look even smaller.  
  
Opening the fridge proved to be a challenge then – it still is, I suppose – with the sudden onslaught of light once the door is released from the switch inside, but I had somehow managed to make a quick meal: a sandwich with whatever meat or cheese I had that didn't spoil. I offered it, but Aoba seemed disinterested. Regardless, I left it on the counter should he had changed his mind.  
  
Some odd-hour later, after I had left Aoba in the comfort of my bed and took my own place on the couch, all I could do was stare up at the ceiling.  
  
Although the darkness tends to be easier for me to deal with, I still have episodes where my senses will go haywire and the world around me grows distorted. Sometimes, I regain some semblance of touch during these episodes.  
  
The night I brought Aoba home was one of those nights.  
  
The blanket I brought with me to the couch wrapped around my waist like a snake, and I could have sworn I even felt it constrict. My pillow felt sticky and rough, like flesh; logically, I knew it was because it was of the silky material mixing with the stagnant summer heat, but it brought little comfort. The strangest thing, however, was when I heard the soft scratching of nails on drywall in the room.  
  
When I looked in the direction of the noise, I saw Aoba climbing on the ceiling from the bedroom doorway.  
  
He didn't seem to notice me. I mean, how could he? This sight I was witnessing was nothing more than some delusion brought up by my fucked up brain. Even so, I didn't dare move or make any notion to bring attention to myself. I watched him for a moment, how he would scurry from one corner to the next and contort his figure as he moved around a corner, almost as though he were investigating.  
  
It seemed so real, yet so impossible, I had to keep reminding myself that I couldn't really believe anything I saw nowadays.  
  
My confusion and mild fright eventually gave way to my exhaustion; I closed my eyes and blocked out the fleshy mound I was laying on, the serpent around my body, the skittering around the room.  
  
Eventually, this all faded away, and I slumbered.  
  
When I awoke with a start the next morning, I scrambled off the couch and rushed to the bedroom to check on Aoba. I found him bundled in the sheets, asleep with his back turned to me.

 


	2. Fremde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noiz is slowly adjusting to his life with Aoba and without normal perception. While on a routine doctor's visit, new information comes to light that has Noiz questioning Aoba's origins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fremde - "foreign, stranger, alien"

I'm not entirely sure how much time has passed since, though if I had to wager a guess, I'd say it's been about two months. In that time, I conducted extensive research on any missing persons in the area, as well as the next few cities over. While there were quite a few that came close in terms of description, even when I dated back twenty years, these all ultimately came up empty.

There was nobody looking for Aoba.  
  
It's not like I mind, though. If nobody is looking for him, then there's no reason to give him up. I haven't had any more delusions of him since that first night, and his company has been nothing short of welcomed. He's opened up a bit more, too, asking what certain things are, what I'm doing when I work at my computer, exclaiming in pride and excitement when he learns something new.  
  
Even now, as I sit hunched over my laptop, he keeps himself busy as he sits curled up next to me on the couch. The soft _clickclickclick_ of the Rubik's cube I gave him some time ago, mixed with his quiet sighs and grunts of mild frustration, the occasional shift of his body as he adjusts his position, it's all so oddly comforting having this sort of background noise while I tap away. There are a few keys on the keyboard that don't register on the screen; I probably hit them too hard, not having quite perfected the amount of pressure I need to use since losing my ability to feel.  
  
Whatever. It's probably time to get a new one anyway.  
  
“Ah! I did it!”  
  
Aoba yelps with delight, climbing into my lap and practically shoving my laptop off to the side as he straddles my legs. I manage to catch it before it crashes to the floor and gently set it onto the cushion beside me before I lift my sunglasses to rest on top of my forehead. It's really the only way I can stand to look at my computer, even with the brightness down to the lowest setting.  
  
He grins brightly, offering me the solved puzzle in the palms of his hands. His smile is always beautiful, always infectious, and I can't help but smile back.  
  
“Good job,” I praise and lift a hand to gently pet the top of his head. He purrs lowly, shutting his eyes and leaning into my touch. I take the puzzle with my free hand. “You're getting better at this. I think it took you even less time this try.”  
  
“Well, it's getting easier to figure out the steps needed to get all the colors in order,” he chuckles in response. His body leans into mine, pressing our torsos together as my hand moves from his tufts of soft blue hair down to the nape of his neck, tangling my fingers in his silky locks.  
  
“What are you doing?” Aoba wiggles closer, his attention on the computer beside us as he rests his cheek upon my chest.  
  
He smells sweet. Enticingly sweet.  
  
The two of us have gotten into the habit of only wearing our shirts and underwear when around the house; nobody comes over and he seems to appreciate and even reciprocate my desire to just touch and feel another person. With our bodies pressed like this, with hardly anything in between, I try to resist moving to create more friction.  
  
“Work,” I bluntly reply through the temptation. My fingers idly play with his hair.  
  
“Oh.” He purses his lips together in a small pout, and it's absolutely adorable. “That doesn't sound like fun.”  
  
“It can be pretty boring at times,” I shrug. The cube falls from my other hand to rest on his hip before it rolls off the edge of the couch and onto the hardwood floor with a dull thud.  
  
“If it's boring, why do you do it?”  
  
“Well, it's what pays for the apartment, food, electricity...” I trail off when he seems to understand the gist of it and nods.  
  
There's a comforting silence between us for a moment as we just sit here together in the early hours of the morning, accompanied only by our slow breathing and the distant chirping of birds rousing from sleep, the sun beginning its slow ascent somewhere over the horizon. I close my eyes as I lean back against the couch, holding him against me, inhaling his scent and losing myself in his warmth.  
  
I feel before I hear his low chuckle rumble against my chest. His hips suddenly grind against mine, and I inhale sharply through my nose at the numbing bolt of pleasure that shoots from my groin up my spine and down to my toes. I open my eyes and look down to see him biting back a grin, teeth worrying his bottom lip and eye gleaming impishly. A new sparkle shines in those eyes when he rolls his hips into my crotch again, his pelvis rubbing against the growing bulge in my boxers; I can't hold back the gasp that escapes my throat, nor can I help but give in to the urge to push back.  
  
“Hey, Noiz,” he drawls, leaning his face closer to mine. His breath is hot and sweet against my cheeks, so close I could kiss him; God, I want to.  
  
“You wanna do something a little more fun than work?” Another grind of the hips, another shaky breath. I can't move as he leans in further, lightly nibbles at my neck, hands roaming down my sides until they reach the hem of my shirt and sneak under the cloth to press warm palms against the skin formed around my ribs.  
  
My head tilts back naturally, my eyelids fluttering in response to the sensation of lips and teeth ghosting down my chest, his body shifting down and off the coach, onto his knees on the floor as he descends further down my body. I jolt and release a sigh as a warm wetness presses against the head of my dick through my boxers, and a hand reaches down to hold the top of his head, gripping slightly when he pulls the fabric down to release my arousal.  
  
“H-Hey, Aoba...” I shudder as he licks slowly up and around the piercings and hums in acknowledgment. “You don't...have to do this--”  
  
“But I want to.” Those big, golden eyes peek up at me through his bangs, looking so perfectly innocent as his lips press sinfully against the leaking head of my penis. His attention reverts back to the erection in front of him, and then he gets to work.  
  
This is the type of relationship we have now.  
  
Aoba is always the one to initiate, always the one so eager to please. It's almost greedy in the way he takes my dick into his mouth all at once, how he grips the base with a tenderness I can't even begin to describe. His tongue laps up the precum around the head as the insides of his cheeks massage the rest of my shaft in a sucking motion, and I shudder at how heavenly it all is. Looking down at the sight of such an angelic face performing such a lewd act only arouses me further, and I can feel myself grow harder in his mouth.  
  
For how long this has been going on, the two of us have never gone further than using our hands and mouths. It's not that I would mind going further; it certainly wouldn't be the first time I've gone all the way with another man. I've offered countless times when it seemed like he was left unsatisfied, but he's turned me down every time thus far.  
  
That's okay, though. It still feels absolutely incredible and Aoba looks so gorgeous when he gets into it, face flushed and eyes glazed while he sucks me off with an almost desperate urgency, just as he is now.  
  
He pulls off my cock with a wet pop, the tip of his tongue flicking the head as he pulls away. I groan lowly in my throat at the sensation; he simply grins mischievously and looks back up to lock his eyes with mine.  
  
“You get excited a lot faster than usual,” he teases before he flicks it again. His lips brush over the length, leaving wet, sloppy kisses in his wake and forcing another groan from my gut as my fingers tighten in his hair. “You've been enjoying this a lot more lately. Does it feel that good?”  
  
It does. So, so very much.  
  
I can't really explain why, either. With Aoba, lately, he and I have both been gradually growing more and more insatiable. Although he's refuses my offer to advance our relationship further, I know – and he knows, too – that it's only a matter of time before one of us breaks.  
  
He's about to dive back in when a rhythmic beeping chirps from the coffee table; it's the alarm I've had set on my cell phone. I groan – this time in frustration – and toss my head back against the back of the couch.  
  
“Oh well,” Aoba sighs from my waist as he pulls the band of my boxers back up and over my sopping erection. He leaves a soft kiss on the inside of my thigh before crawling up my torso, back into my lap to curl his hands around my cheeks and leave another kiss on my mouth. I can taste my own bitterness on his tongue, and it only drives me even crazier. My arms wrap around him and hold him against me before he can pull away, and we both sigh into kiss, messy with tongues caressing slowly, almost rocking our bodies back into a sensual rhythm despite the shrill alarm. Eventually, though, we pull away.  
  
“We'll pick this up when I get back,” I murmur against his lips, puffy and glistening. He chuckles breathy in response, bumping our foreheads together before he nudges my sunglasses back down my face.  
  
“I'm looking forward to it.”

  
~*~

  
“How are you feeling today, Mr. Heisenhower?” The blob – Dr. Seragaki – inquires as I plant myself into a vague shape I somehow recognize as a chair in her office. Her voice is still a bit scratchy from the static, but I've been around her often enough now to register her voice as female. “Still sensitive to light, I take it?”  
  
“Wonder what gave you that idea,” I scoff and push my sunglasses up to readjust on my face. These early-morning appointments have long gotten tiresome. However, it's the only time she can see me before the sun rises too high and makes it unbearable for me to leave the house.  
  
Even so, I want to hurry back home, back to Aoba.  
  
She moves around the room, maneuvering around shapes of all sizes and textures. There's a black slab of flesh she places over what I assume is the door I came in, before there's a soft click.  
  
And suddenly, everything in the room becomes more familiar.  
  
“Is this better?” she asks upon returning to her seat across from me.  
  
Dr. Seragaki is the only doctor who's willing to see me in the dark like this on a consistent basis.  
  
With the room in darkness now, I'm able to see it closer to the way it was in the world I left behind. The large slab of flesh, I see now, is in actuality a dark sheet used specifically to block out the light poking through windows. The wriggling tentacles on the counter are sterile gloves. The blob in front of me, I see for the first time, is an older woman with a jaded expression. But I can't see much else.  
  
“Yeah. I can actually sort of see you like a person,” I answer, leaning forward a little to rest my elbows on my knees. “There are still a lot of details I'm pretty vague on, but I can make out some specific shapes and objects now.”  
  
The extent of Dr. Seragaki's knowledge on my condition are that I have difficulty making specific shapes out and that I can't feel. If she knew that just seconds ago, I saw her as a crawling blob monster, that that was basically how I saw the world around me, there's no doubt in my mind I would be forced back into the mental asylum.  
  
I refuse to go back.  
  
“Good, that's very good. Even if it's only a little bit of progress, it's certainly better than the last time we met for a check-up,” she nods as she reaches over to a nearby clipboard and pen on her counter and begins to write something down. “How about the sensation of touch? Has your body been able to register feeling?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Nothing that isn't Aoba or part of my delusional mind.  
  
“I see. How about the headaches? Have they gone away since the stitches were removed?”  
  
“Yes.”

She jots more stuff down. “How about insomnia? Do you still have trouble sleeping at night?”  
  
“Not anymore.”  
  
Not since Aoba and I have started to share the bed.  
  
Dr. Seragaki mutters to herself for a minute or so, lightly tapping the tip of her pen against the paper on the clipboard.  
  
“Good,” she says at last. “Now, how are you doing on your medication? Has it been helping with your...suicidal tendencies?”  
  
I know she wanted to word it differently, but there's really no way around it.  
  
“Hasn't crossed my mind.”

Now that I have something to live for.  
  
“That's wonderful! While you are still suffering from the effects of traumatic brain damage, you seem to be fairly high-functioning. Most patients have difficulty speaking, walking, basic motor skills...You got pretty lucky if you only have sensitivity to light, though it seems your body is still in shock if it's not registering the sensation of touch.” She rises from her seat and sets the clipboard back down onto the counter with one hand as she reaches for what looks like a stethoscope with the other.  
  
“Now we have to check your vitals,” she explains. It's more of a formality than anything else.  
  
I sit up straight and breathe in when she tells me to, then out. As we go through this routine, my eyes scan around the room now that I'm able to sort of see what's in it. It's strange how it's taken me so long, but I guess it's because I'm growing familiar with it that I'm able to make out specific details.  
  
For example, I can finally see what this small rectangle that used to be covered in what looked like vomit, sitting by Dr. Seragaki's computer next to where I'm sitting. It's a picture frame, and if I squint enough, I can see two people in it. From this distance, though, I can't make out anything more than their shapes.  
  
“That's my grandson.” Dr. Seragaki's voice brings me back to reality. She reaches over to hold it, setting the stethoscope aside. “You were staring so intently at it, I was wondering if you could recognize any facial features.”  
  
I hum in thought before replying with, “Not this far away, no.”  
  
“Here.” She hands me the picture frame. After glancing at her curiously, my attention focuses on the monochromatic photo in my hands.  
  
The fog gradually fades on the shorter of the two; it's Dr. Seragaki, albeit much younger. I can probably recognize her in the photo because I can make out some of her own features here in the present. Beside her, there's a taller figure dressed in a dark uniform.  
  
“That's Sei,” she explains with a sort of fondness in her voice. “I practically raised him myself ever since he was a babe. Sweet boy. We took this the day he graduated high school, I was so proud of him then. He wanted to go to school to study the psychological effects of colors so he can help patients going through trauma therapy.”  
  
“Ah,” I nod. The fog begins to clear on his face as well the longer I stare at it. “Is that what he's doing now?”  
  
The doctor goes silent. I look at her to find her jaded expression messily contorted into what looks like pain. “No. He went missing a long, long time ago.”  
  
“Oh. I'm sorry to hear that.” Now that she mentions it, I do vaguely recall reading a news article about a young college student in this town that went missing about twenty-five, twenty-three years ago. It said they never found his body, so the theory that he simply ran away was also heavily considered as a possibility. It doesn't click until just now, how both he and the doctor share the same surname.  
  
The next time I look down at the picture, the fog has been cleared up and it's like time itself has stopped.  
  
I recognize Sei's face.

  
~*~

When I finally come back home, it's mid-morning. The apartment looks almost other-worldly, despite the curtains concealing light from the window and sliding door to the balcony; still, it's a far more welcome sight than the almost totally unknown world that lies just outside my front door. I kick off my shoes and leave them in the doorway, not caring to straighten them up as I step over the gekkan.  
  
It's quiet, which means Aoba must be in the bedroom. I slowly trek my way over, thoughts racing through my head a mile a minute as I try to make sense of everything that's happened today. It has to be a coincidence, I tell myself. It has to be.  
  
I slowly open the door. There he is, nestled in the sheets like a swaddled baby.  
  
His eyelids flutter open once I step into the room and he lets out a sleepy yawn before he frees himself from the cotton restraints.  
  
“Welcome back, Noiz,” he greets me languidly, a faint smile plastered on his face as he shifts on the bed to crawl over closer to where I'm standing.  
  
I approach the bed, his arms reaching out for me as I draw closer until he's practically pulling me down onto him. “How did the visit go?”  
  
“Fine,” I respond, catching my balance just as my knees hit the edge of the mattress. I reach out to support my body weight with my hands. “I can see things a bit better when it's dark.”  
  
“That's great to hear!” He grins before planting a wet kiss on my cheek. “How much longer do you think you'll need to see them for?”  
  
I shrug. He doesn't seem to like that answer too much.  
  
“That's no good. You have to get better so they can stop taking you away. I missed you,” he murmurs, nuzzling his face into my neck.  
  
“I was able to make out her face,” I blurt out. He pulls away and looks at me with admiration. “Not a lot, but enough features to kind of get an idea on what she looks like.”  
  
“Noiz, that's wonderful! You're starting to see the world for how it really is?”  
  
Aoba, stop being so kind. You're not making this easy.  
  
“Her face wasn't the...only one I could recognize.” I gulp internally, giving Aoba a look that hopefully conveys the gravity of what I'm about to say. The warmth in his smile and twinkle in his eyes never waver even then.  
  
“Just to confirm...you don't have any family, right?” It's hard for me to ask.  
  
“Right.”  
  
“No siblings, or cousins, or anything like that, right?”  
  
“Those would qualify as family, wouldn't they? I _am_ understanding that correctly, aren't I?” He tilts his head, an eyebrow raising in confusion.  
  
I swallow my own spit in nerves.  
  
The young man I could see in the photo was an identical copy to the one in front of me, despite existing over twenty years apart. Aoba claims he has no relatives, no family whatsoever. If that were the case, then his very existence is even more a mystery now than it was when we first met.  
  
“The doctor had a picture of her grandson who went missing several years ago. His eyes, his nose, his facial structure...they're all completely identical to yours,” I cut straight to the point. My hands find their way to his shoulders, where they stay as I look him dead in the eye.  
  
“Aoba...” I pause, sorting through my brain to choose my words carefully. Alas, something like this isn't so gracious to allow tact. There's too many questions, too many possibilities that don't make sense: why Aoba looks like a carbon copy of a person who went missing twenty years ago; why he's the only one I can see and feel like a normal person; why I found him in the middle of the woods that night. As these thoughts jumble together, I begin to doubt other perceptions I've had of him up to this point, the first to come to mind being what I saw that first night.  
  
“...What exactly _are_ you?”  
  
I've never seen a smile drop to a stoic stare so quickly in my life.  
  
He stares right back at me, unwavering, unreadable, boring deep into my soul. I imagine a chill running down the back of my neck. This expression...it's so unlike him. It's like all of the humanity I've known him to have has suddenly been suctioned out.  
  
It's...actually downright terrifying.  
  
After what seems like forever, he finally relents and gives me a pained, almost desperate expression, the fierceness in his gaze melting into fear. “Would you hate me if you knew?”  
  
No. Never.  
  
I open my mouth to speak, but my throat has run dry. No words come out.  
  
Instead, I only shake my head and pull him close against me.  
  
Aoba saved me from myself. I should have died that night, but he was a literal beacon in the darkness. He gave me the hope and strength I needed to pull myself out of that state of mind in order to survive this nightmare; and now, with Aoba, I can _live_.  
  
I could never give that up.  
  
Still, thoughts creep from the back of my mind. There are so many unanswered questions, about Sei's disappearance and Aoba's existence. The desire to unravel the circumstances of their relation nag and tug at my brain.  
  
The more I dwell on it, however, the more I take this into consideration:  
  
Do I really _want_ to know what Aoba really is?  
  
The man in my arms holds me back, fingers clutching tightly at the back of my shirt. My hand reaches up to gently stroke his hair; it feels so soft, so real tangled in my fingers. His warmth, his scent, it's all so human and _real_.  
  
For the time being, I choose to toss away those doubts and questions in favor of thriving in this hellish world with this man, who is as real as I perceive him to be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get the plot rolling!

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has multiple chapters, I don't know why it's not letting me post it as anything but a one-shot. Stay tuned for future chapters!


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